Hide in Plain Sight
by martykate
Summary: The coal town of Franklin, Washington existed for over 150 years, and during that time, there were mysterious disappearances that no one could explain. Now FBI agent Fox Mulder has resurrected an old X File and has come to the ruined townsite to figure out if UFO's were responsible. But he does not expect to find the mysterious Sara Olivier investigating too-but why is she there?
1. Chapter 1

HIDE IN PLAIN SIGHT

"Damn!" Mulder swore softly as the first drops of rain hit him. It was a late spring day in Washington State and though not cold, the sky had slowly grayed and now the promise of rain had become a reality. He would either have to endure getting wet, and possibly chilled if the temperature dropped, or leave the path he had been following and try to find shelter under a nearby tree.

He had been following the trail of a long-dead coal railroad, one of many that threaded through Western Washington. Franklin, Monte Cristo, and Newcastle now were only forgotten memories. The mines, the towns, the railroad tracks were long reduced to nothing, save the occasional artifact, lumps of coal, and dynamited shaft entrances. In addition to timber, mining had been a major industry in the early history of the state, but in the end the ore, though still in evidence, had proved too costly to ship and so the mines were now nothing more than a sad remnant of a once-proud thriving venture.

He was here because for many years there had been isolated reports of unidentified aircraft, mysterious lights and sounds, and unproven rumors of evidence of activities. Occasionally, in the past, someone would wander into the woods and not return; an incident that might be blamed on a forgotten mine shaft. Mulder considered this only remotely possible, even though people often behave with an alarming lack of intelligence and sense. Perhaps a fall down a mineshaft that could have been overlooked could have been responsible for some disappearances, but for the most part, the mine entrances had been blown up to prevent that from happening, so he was inclined to seek a different explanation.

The rain began to come down harder. He left the path and headed into the trees, being careful to keep the path in sight. He knew he would not find much of a shelter, but the wide branch of a Douglas fir would give him some protection. This squall was typical of the Northwest, unforeseen and unpredicted. It would either turn into a full-scale storm, or last for a short time and disappear. If the former proved to be true he would return to his motel for a hot shower and to change into dry clothes. He had no wish to be drenched from head to toe, he could return later in more suitable clothing and continue his search.

Snap. This distinctive sound of a branch breaking caught his attention. Not the sound of a branch falling from a tree, but broken on the ground, by something, or someone heavy enough to break it. And then footsteps running, the thud of something falling on the ground, and a cry, a female cry of pain. He ran ahead towards the sound, heard another exclamation and hurried, one hand on his gun out of instinct. And then came the flash of light, and for a brief moment he went blind.

When sight returned he saw her. She was lying on her side in fetal position, holding her ankle and moaning softly. She looked up and he could see that she was crying. She tried to back away from him and her hand went to a small hatchet that hung from her belt. "It's all right" he said softly and slowly approached her. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I'm with the FBI and I'm going to pull out my ID to show you." And slowly he drew it from his pocket, grateful that he had brought it, and showed it to her. "See, that's me in the photograph. I'm Fox Mulder and I promise you I am not going to hurt you. Will you let me look at your ankle and see if it's broken."

Wide green eyes stared at him, and then she slowly nodded her head. He unlaced her boot then moved his hands slowly over her ankle and then rubbed it gently. "You may have sprained it, but you're lucky—you didn't break it," he said, "Do you think you can stand up, maybe put weight on it?" He waited for her reply, taking in, in spite of himself, her soft auburn curls, full lips, long eyelashes. Ever a fool for a pretty girl, he told himself, though this was not a girl but a woman his age, older, younger? He couldn't tell. Her face seemed neither old nor young, Embarrassed, he found himself staring harder than he intended.

He did see her eyes sizing him up when she held out her hands to him. "Please," she said, and he grasped her slender hands and then quickly put his arms around her when she winced and caught her to him. "Take it easy," he said softly, supporting her. She held onto him now, tightly, as if afraid to let go. "Maybe we should wait for a minute," he said, "Let's see what the rain does and give your ankle a chance to rest. If it looks like it's not going to get better we can head back. If you can't walk I'll carry you." He looked up through the trees, trying to see the sky. "Do you think it's going to rain again?" he asked.

"This is Seattle," she said, "You can never predict the rain. Sometimes the weatherman is right, but here nature rules and goes her own way." She paused for a moment. "But I don't think that that flash of light was lightening."

Here was a break that he had dared not hope for. "What do you think it was then?"

She looked at him, her face masked, almost devoid of expression. "I think you have an idea, I think you aren't here by accident. This stretch of the old railroad line will probably become a park, but it hasn't yet. It's the same with the ruins of the town, it will probably be designated a historic site. This area is lesser known, considered more dangerous. The mining company was pretty careful about closing all the old entrances and cleaning up the remains of the town but there are still things left. And there is the remains of an old open pit but it's surrounded by the woods that have grown up around it. The only explanation I've heard is that the mining company dug it to see if it would be an economic way to mine the coal. But they would up mining underground because it produced more ore."

"No one wants to admit it, but there have been strange goings on here for as long as they've been mining coal. In the old days whenever a man died it was usually due to a mining accident. If a child disappeared, an abandoned shaft might be considered the culprit. There was always an explanation to explain away the unexplainable. Now of course if someone disappears it's popular to blame it on dope fiends or serial killers. It's easier to accept, don't you think?" She lowered her head for a moment. "I'm not one to readily believe in extreme possibilities, but I'm starting to accept it. Do you know how many people have disappeared here in the past three years?"

"Twenty-two, I think," he said, "Twenty-two or twenty-three. And they seem to have vanished into thin air, if I'm not mistaken. Each case has been labeled unsolved, but still open. And supposedly they have all but torn these woods apart. But they never found anything."

"No, they never found anything. Not even an old mine shaft, though I think there may be one or two around that no one knows of. They even searched the old pit, but they never found anything. And now the lights have started up again." She sighed and looked off into the distance. She shuddered and said softly, "I'm cold, I want to get out of here, rain or no."

Mulder was in agreement. Her sweatshirt, twill shorts and hiking boots were no more protection from the rain than his garments. "Why don't you try and lean on me," he said, "And see if you can walk. If you can't, I'm going to carry you." He paused a moment for effect. "You fool," he thought, but fools rush in where angels fear to tread. "But first," he asked, almost shyly, "Won't you please tell me your name?"

He was rewarded with the smile again. She lowered her eyes, then raised them up to his. "Sara," she said, "Sara Olivier."

"Sara." It was his turn to smile this time. "Lovely Sara," he thought, then asked, "How did you get here? I didn't see any other car."

"Walked," she replied matter of factly. I don't live that far away. I chose my house because it was so close to the old railway line and townsite. Kind of atmosphere-y, don't you think?"

He started to reply but the flash of light came again. Just before the blindness came she was torn from him and he cried out her name. Then suddenly he came to, and found himself lying on the ground. The panic began to rise in him and he cried out her name again and again, and then heard crying. He heard her cry out his name once weakly, and then again more strongly.

"Sara, where are you?" he shouted and heard her reply, "Here!" He rose slowly and shouted out for her again, "Keep calling me so I can find you." And this time when she answer he realized that he was not far from her.

"Fox!" She called out his name and when he reached her side she held him tightly and would not let go. She began crying uncontrollably from fright and he pressed her more closely to him, sheltering her in his arms. Even in the circle of his arms she began to shake and could not stop. He stroked her hair and kissed it, not letting her go. "I'm here," he said softly, "And I'm not going to let you go. I won't let anything hurt you. I'm here, baby, I'm here."

He picked her up and started down the path. Though the sky had darkened the path was well defined enough for him to carefully pick his way. When they reached his car he set her gently down, then opened the door and put her inside. He got in on his side and took her once again in his arms. Before he realized what he was doing, his mouth found hers and she responded to him and it seemed for a moment that they would devour each other.

He pulled away, "I don't know what got into me." He looked at her and gently ran his finger down the length of her face, stopping to trace the shape of her lips. "You were so afraid, and perhaps….."

Her answer was more simple. " I want you, too"

He sighed and gently this time, he took her again into his arms. Their mouths explored each other, softly at first, then giving in to the rising fever in them. He put his hand on her cheek and said, "I'm tempted to ask you whether you want to go to my motel or if you think you should tell me where you live. I don't want to leave the burden of this on you. But right now I want you; and maybe if we each take a shower, alone, we can think about what we want to do."

"Right now the only thing I know for sure is that I want that shower and clean clothes. But I'm also afraid of you walking out of my life, and I don't even know you. Oh Fox, I don't know what to think." She laid a cool hand on his cheek. "You appear out of nowhere and for God only knows what reason. I feel like I can trust you, but I don't trust my feelings. And I feel very confused—this is all too sudden, like I've been caught up in a whirlwind."

"Me, too," Mulder thought, and then replied, "We'll go to your place, and you can shower and change your clothes. Then we go to my motel and I'll do the same things. After that, we'll go to dinner somewhere where we can sit in a quiet dark corner, alone, and we'll talk and find out about each other." He paused for a moment, drew a breath and went on. "And then we'll talk about wanting each other, and I'll tell you then that I won't walk out of your life and maybe you'll believe me." He grinned, a small mischievous boy-like smile."

She smiled at him and he kissed her. "You should smile more often. It makes your face light up." This was rewarded with another smile that went straight to his heart "Oh, and one more thing," he added as an afterthought, "My friends call me 'Mulder', I can't remember the last time someone called me 'Fox'."

"I like 'Fox', it suits you." She smiled again, and her finger traced the length of his face.

"Scully would like her, I think," he thought to himself, "And I hope she gets to meet her soon—very soon." "Now," he said out loud, "How do we get to your house? If it's okay if we go there first."

"Well, it's closer by foot than it is by road. I can cut across the field in the back of my house. The line of trees follows the old railway line. The old townsite is hidden, but once it was thriving. The miners rode the train to work and the train transported the ore to Seattle to be shipped, probably to San Francisco. Eventually it became too expensive to ship, so the mine was closed and the townsite was dismantled by the company. Now there's nothing much left of the townsite but an old cemetery, and even that had some bodies removed when the families left. After all, with the mine closed there was no work and nothing to stay for."

She sighed, deep in thought. "I'm sure you don't want a history lesson, so I won't bore you. Follow this dirt road down to the main road and take a left. There's another road that goes off to the left about three miles down the road. After that you take the first right, and you'll see my house. Simple, yes?"

As she said, it was simple, there was the house, with the field behind it barely visible in the twilight. "Let me carry you," he said and picked her up against her protestations, "When we get in we'll take another look at your ankle and if you can't stand I'll take you to the emergency room. Let me have your key." Without a word she placed it in her hand.

The house was small, the inside neat. The living room and kitchen shared a large stone fireplace, in front of which sat two cats, considering him with yellow-green eyes. He set her down gently, holding her while she tested her ankle. She winced slightly as she put her weight down, testing it gingerly, but not willing to let go of him. She let out a sharp yelp of pain and the cats disappeared into her bedroom. He gave her a look of concern but she smiled and nodded.

"I'm okay. I'm going to be limping but I'm okay. Look, I'll take off my boots," she sat down and unlaced her hiking boots. "See, the swelling isn't too bad. Just let me take a shower and I'll feel better. I can walk if I'm careful."

"All right. But if it's worse in the morning you go to the doctor and I won't hear any protest."

She gave him a withering look and disappeared into her bedroom. He soon heard water running and resisted a powerful temptation to offer help. Instead he set himself to looking around her house, taking in the large couch that faced the fireplace, the desk on which rested an oversized computer monitor. He watched for a moment as the screensaver changed images, then realized he was looking at shots of UFO's, pictures that had been taken over the woods behind her house. "My god," he said softly.

Between the computer monitor and the printer was a three-ring notebook. He picked it up and began looking at it. There were pictures of the cemetery, pictures of old stone foundations, pictures of closed off entrances of mine, pictures of light flashes over the cemetery and woods, and more pictures of UFO's. "My god," he repeated.

"Interesting, isn't it?" she said, and he turned around. She wore a terrycloth robe and had wrapped a towel around her head. She took the towel from her head and shook out her hair. "This is three years' worth of pictures, the three years that I've lived here. I still can't believe the things that I've seen. I never expected anything like this, never. They flew over the house once, you know. Scared the living daylights out of the cats and me too. I'm surprised that I didn't lose all my computer data, but it was all right. And they didn't hurt us, they just flew low over the house—like they just wanted a good luck at it."

"What do you know about the disappearances?" he hated asking the question, any question for that matter now, but he had to know, but she shook her head.

"I won't talk about that here. It's too close, too close. Tonight, in the restaurant I'll tell you what I know, though I don't know much about it. But we'll talk about it later." She disappeared into the bedroom and did not emerge until she was dressed. Her black velvet skirt and rose colored shirt were a revelation, along with her perfume and the lightest touch of makeup that she wore. The black leather jacket leant a defiant touch, as if she wanted to defy as well as entice him.

"Let me sweep me off your feet," he said, and picked her up despite her struggles. He kissed the tip of her nose, "I've discovered that I like carrying you," he said and kissed her again. "We'll go back to my motel and I'll shower and change clothes. And then we'll find the darkest restaurant we can so no one can see the lustful looks that I'm giving you."

"Yeah right," she answered, but relaxed against him as he carried her out to the car. "You're not going to carry me into the restaurant, I hope." He smiled and lifted his eyebrows and she shook her head. "I don't trust you," she said.

"Trust no one. Trust me on this." He started the car and headed down her driveway. "Wait, did we lock your house?" He turned the car around and headed back. "Give me your key, I'd rather be safe than sorry." Without a word, she handed it to him.

He ran up and checked the door and found it unlocked. He locked it and then checked the door. He got back in the car, and gave her back the key. "From now on, don't ever forget to lock your door," he told her, "I wish your house wasn't so isolated."

"It's only because my house is isolated that I've seen the things that I've seen. I took that house because it was near the old townsite, but I've gotten far more in the bargain. The UFO's, well, scared me at first, but they've never hurt me, never threatened me, and if you think…" her voice trailed off.

"If I think what, if I think what?" He had to make her finish, he could not let her off the hook.

"If you think they had something to do with those people who disappeared. Oh, I don't know. I just don't want to think that—I don't want to think about being afraid. I don't know what happened to those people, no one does. It's been going on for as long as people have been here. Why couldn't it be murder, or people getting lost and dying of exposure, or even just running away? A hundred explanations."

"I don't know if I'm afraid for you because of the UFO's, but I think-something-is out there causing those disappearances. Whether it's earthly or other-worldly I don't know. But you need to be careful, Sara, something could happen to you. Things have a way of happening."

They'd reached his motel, and he wanted to get out, but he saw a look of distress on her face and knew he had to soothe her, reassure her. He took her in his arms and stroked her shiny hair. He inhaled the scent of her perfume, a scent like fresh flowers, and pressed her close against him. "Let me take care of you, Sara, let me keep you safe," he whispered into her hair and rocked her gently in his arms.

They drew apart, and he smiled. He opened his door and went around to her side. She surrendered to him and let him carry her into his room. He laid her on the bed and shook a finger at her. "If you only knew what I was thinking right now." He took some clothes out of the dresser and kissed her briefly on the lips. "I promise you, this will be the world's quickest shower," and then gave her one last look as if afraid she would disappear.

He showered as quickly as he could, and emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet, but dressed and ready to leave. "Okay, let's go get dinner," he said, and she smiled and held out her hand. He pulled her up and asked, "How's the ankle?"

"I frankly haven't had a chance to find out. I haven't had an opportunity to walk—well, maybe that's not quite true. I hope I don't need to do any running, though."

"I've got just the restaurant picked out for us. I just hope you don't mind steak, or if you do, that they have something that you'll want." He put his arm around her to support her and led her out to the car. He had just started the car when his phone rang. He looked at her apologetically, and said, "Sometimes I wish I didn't have this thing," then picked it up and answered.

"Mulder-yeah Scully. Can I get back to you later, I'm involved in something right now." He looked up at Sara and smiled. "No, it started raining so I haven't looked around much, but I did see some interesting things near the townsite. I've found a local photographer who has some pictures I'd like you to see. What, no, I'm still expecting you on Saturday. Okay, I'll talk to you when you get here." He clicked his phone off and sighed. "I've never been interrupted on a date before, if you can believe that. I bet you don't." He chuckled and started the car and drove off.


	2. Chapter Two

As Mulder promised, the restaurant was quiet and dark, and she was able to order chicken instead of steak. Surprisingly, it tasted good and she made a mental note to come back there. At last they had sated their appetites and sat sipping on cognacs when he finally brought up the subject of the disappearances.

"Okay," he said, "Now that we've eaten, it's time for the hard questions."

"What do I know about it?" she asked, "Maybe less than you, since you're FBI." She paused for a moment. "Let's see. First you have to understand that no one here wants to talk about it-I don't know if you've tried or not. On the other hand there are some people who say that there have been sightings here since about 1863, around when the mining began. The greenies of course say that they've been coming here to keep an eye on the environment." She shook her head, "If I hadn't seen them myself, I wouldn't believe that they existed at all. I don't understand why they would want to come and visit us, we just aren't that interesting. Maybe it's general curiosity-that might make sense. But they must come from a long ways away, and the technology must be incredible to make it this far—it makes me wonder if they make it home."

"People have been disappearing around here for a long time, but not so many in so short a time. Except for the Green River murders, when a lot of prostitutes remains were found at different dump sites not far from this area. And until recently it's been basically undeveloped. The town was here for just a brief time and it disappeared. Likewise the railroad. It took a while for all of the mine shafts to be blocked off, and I'm sure until then that more than one person has paid dearly for his curiosity."

"I've tried to check the records. During the heyday of the mine and the town and the railroad, only rarely would someone have admitted to seeing the lights. Once in a while, but that was usually dismissed for one reason or another. In the short time I've lived here the number of times the lights have appeared is staggering. And I know it's not unusual for people to disappear, but the towns around here are small. This shouldn't be happening. And during this time the lights activities have been stepped up. But even so I was surprised today when it happened twice."

"It's happened to me before, you know, the lights in the woods. It's not exactly comfortable but it hasn't been life threatening. I've never seen craft close up, only at a distance, as you've seen from my pictures. And other people have seen them too, but I don't know if you'll find anyone willing to talk about it. Someone must have seen, but I don't know who. I keep hoping I'll find someone else in the woods, looking for answers just like me. But you're the first person I've seen who seems to be _looking_ for something. But there have got to be others," she finished. She looked up at him, "That's not much to go on, I wish I could offer you more."

"How do you know there are others?" he asked, playing devil's advocate.

"Like I said, this is a small town, and it's been here since the mining days. Sometimes you'll hear stories about the lights, but face it, chances are if someone has seen something they're not likely to talk much about it. After all, people talk and word would get around and then there goes your reputation."

"I'm not the only one who visits the town site. It's likely to be on the historic register soon and it's in some of the rail trails hiking books. This one is kind of hard to find, though and it takes a bit of trouble to get here. Nevertheless, I do run into people, just not many. The locals don't hang around much, except for kids who are out partying. A few of the missings have been adolescents, but not all of them. I've checked old records to see who went missing, but they haven't yielded much information, if there is any" she added almost to herself.

"You know the other thing I wonder," she said, "Is whether or not something was disturbed down there that should have been left alone. I don't know if I believe in such things, but this mine seemed to have more than its share of cave-ins. I know the miners' weren't glad to lose their income, but I wonder if it was a blessing when they shut it down. Mining is a deadly business anyway, and even more so in the old days. There's an old shaft not too far from the cemetery that they couldn't blow up, all they could do is put a very heavy metal grate over it. There's no way to get in it, fortunately, but I'm curious enough to wonder what's down there."

"Are you sure there's no way to get in?" He looked at her quizzically.

"No," she shook her head, "No way. The shaft supposedly goes down about 1300 feet—it was dug that deep so that they could mine 500 feet below sea level. And it's covered for a reason—if you could even get down, there's no guarantee that you could get back up. And these mine shafts are dangerous. There's a lot of ground water here because the water table is so high. A lot of those shafts are filled with water and a misstep could get you drowned. And who would know how and where to find you? No, you can't get in and it's better that you don't.

He considered this for a moment. "So that would also go for any abandoned shafts that haven't been found?"

"Unless someone has some very sophisticated pumping equipment and has been able to get it there without anyone knowing—which would be just a little hard. And this mine may not have any other shafts. I know it's possible, but not probable. They pretty much knew that the coal was there. If a tree is uprooted in certain spots here it exposes a coal seam. This wasn't the largest of mines, but they knew that what they needed was here." She paused, thoughtful, "They sank the pit and found out that they'd have to go deeper to get what they wanted, so they abandoned the pit and sunk the shaft. This whole area may be honeycombed with tunnels from the mine. Have you seen the slag heap outside town? That's from the old mine."

He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. "You know a lot about this place, don't you?"

She shook her head, "No, not a lot, not a whole lot anyway. I've done some research, and like I said some trail books mention it as a point of interest. And I've done some exploring at other sites where they tell about the history. I was on my way to the cemetery today, with the idea of clearing some of the grave sites up and taking a few more photographs—not that I don't already have enough. I keep being drawn back there for some reason, like today." She paused for a moment, "Maybe I went there today to meet you, I don't know."

He shook the hand he was holding. "Maybe you did. Maybe I was supposed to meet you there. But Sara, one thing has me really worried and I don't like it. The UFO's that you see—maybe they're harmless and maybe they're not. The things you've told me have me worried—the disappearances, the light flashes, the craft flying over your house. They don't add up to anything good. Maybe it's just a matter of time before something happens to you."

"But you won't let it happen, will you Mulder?" She looked at him earnestly, "I don't have to worry, now I have you."

"But what if I can't keep it from happening," he said to himself, but made himself smile and kissed her forehead, then her eyes, but gripped her hand so tightly that she cried out.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said, "Now let's talk about less scary things, like you coming back to my motel so I can do those unspeakable things to you."

"No, my house," she countered, "So tomorrow morning I can cook breakfast and show you what a good cook I am."

"Sara," his voice had a tone of warning to it, "I really think we should go to my motel." But he knew he was going to give in and wished that he wouldn't.

"Come on…Fox," she said, deliberately using his first name, "What do you think is going to happen? Do you think I'm going to be abducted?" There was a teasing tone in her voice and suddenly the urge to crush her to him came over him again.

"Don't say that, don't even think that," he replied. He signaled the waiter and gave him his credit card. "Okay, you win, your place it is. Your bed is probably more comfortable." "But I wish we'd go to my motel," he thought.

He signed the voucher and they left the restaurant, she still limping a little and leaning on him. In the car he took her into his arms; eager for the feel of her, the scent of her perfume, her silky hair against his cheek. "Sara, lovely Sara," he whispered to her, "Do you know what you've done to me?" She pulled away from him slightly and her green eyes stared into his darker ones. This time she found his lips and the taste of her was sweeter than he'd dared imagine.

"Hmm," he said and turned on the ignition. She smiled at him, widening her eyes. He put his hand on her thigh as he drove, wanting to slide it beneath her skirt, but telling himself to wait, wait until he could have all of her. She leaned against his arm, resting her head on it, rubbing her cheek against his sleeve. "I want you," he thought, "I want you so badly that it scares me. This is too good, too perfect, so therefore it cannot possibly work-or can it?"

When they reached her house, they sat for a moment, and he wondered why. She put her hand on his arm and acted as if she wanted to speak but could not. She exhaled deeply and reached into her purse for her key, and silently handed it to him. He got out and opened her door, and then lifted her up as she stepped out. He carried her to her door, unlocked it, then carried her over the threshold. He set her on the couch and then went back and locked and chained the door.

"Sara, I know I said this once, but promise me, please, you'll always remember to lock your door." He came and sat next to her, knowing how anxious he sounded, but he could not help it.

"Mulder, I'll be all right, I promise. Nothing is going to happen to me, so don't worry. I've lived here three years now and I've been all right. Please don't worry about me. I'll be careful, I am careful." She stroked his hair, ruffling the dark locks.

"Yes, but will you be careful enough?" he thought, "and even if you are, will it help?" He shook his head to ward off his own fears and gathered her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. The cats leapt off the bed as he set her down gently, as if he were afraid that she would break. Again, it was she who took him into her arms this time, and sought his mouth with a fierceness he would not have thought her capable of.

Alone, in the quiet darkness of her room, they lay together in the afterglow, he stroking her gently, wondering at the curves of her body, her skin soft and smooth as satin. "If it's possible to love you this soon, I think I love you," he thought, "And I don't even know how it happened." He fingered her silky curls and traced the curve of her ear. "I think I have at last found happiness," he said to himself, "Or at least my share of it." As he held her against him, sleep began to come and fearful, he tried to fight it. At last he could not, and lulled by the sound of her breathing, he drifted off.


	3. Chapter Three

It started as a dream, a nightmare, really. He was back in his parents' house again and he saw the bright light coming in the window, but now he knew what was coming and he tried to cry out, "Samantha, watch out, they're coming to get you…run!" But he could not speak and the words stuck in his throat. He could only stare in horror as the light seemed to come closer and closer…

And suddenly he woke, and saw _the same light_ coming in through the window. He was paralyzed, that same paralyzing fear had gripped him as he watched the light grow brighter and brighter. Suddenly the house started to shake violently, dishes rattling in cupboards, bookshelves shaking, the computer monitor dancing on the top of the desk. He wanted to escape from the bed, grab Sara and run, get as far away from this place as he could, but he could not move.

The light was so bright that it seemed to be just outside the window. So bright that it threatened to blind him, and he could not raise his hands to shield himself against it. And it seemed to grow bright beyond possibility and he knew for a certainty that it would blind him, and the last thing he would see would be Sara, levitated like his sister, floating through a closed window.

And just before he lost consciousness he saw just precisely that. He saw her floating on top of the bed, mouth open in a grotesque and silent scream. He wanted to move, tried to move, but his muscles were paralyzed and he could not even move his head. "NO NO NO NO NO-it can't be happening again!" He would have screamed but he had no voice. She floated up and out of his reach and just before she reached the window he fell into a blessed unconsciousness and knew no more.

When he came to, he was lying on the bed. He jumped up, "Sara," he yelled, then again "Sara" more loudly. He and ran through the house, checking each room, the bathroom. "Sara," he yelled again, and voice took on a tinge of hysteria. "Damn you, answer me!" But he knew there would be no answer.

He grabbed his jeans and put them on, then opened the door and ran out to his car. He took his flashlight out of the glove compartment and ran around to the back yard. He swept the flashlight back and forth, then knelt down, examining the grass more closely. He ran his hand over the grass, and it felt scorched beneath his fingers, despite the rain earlier in the day. "No," he moaned, and put his head on the ground and pounded his fist.

He ran inside the house and began shoving around the kitchen chairs, pushing the table violently against the wall. The cats crouched at the doorway to the bedroom but would not go in. "What's the matter with you?" he asked them, "Why won't you go in?"

He went into the bedroom and to the bed they had shared just a short time before. He could smell her scent in the sheets and he inhaled deeply. He slammed his hand against the wall, and though it pained him he did it again. The tears came to his eyes and he wept and stared out the window.

He found his jacket and pulled his phone out of the pocket. He clicked it on and was about to start dialing when the computer beeped and the monitor clicked and made a popping sound. Unaware of his actions, he turned off his phone, watching in horrified fascination as the computer screen turned on and suddenly letters started appearing.

"HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME" Over and over and over again as it filled the screen. He walked over there, as if in a trance, and watched the letters run across the screen. He reached a finger out to the monitor, but was afraid to touch it, afraid that if he did the image on the screen would dissolve. At last the image faded away and the screen went blank. He looked down and saw that the computer was not turned on.

He clicked the button of his phone again, and then dialed the number. "Hello Scully, it's me. Sorry about the hour, but Scully…" his voice choked and he had to swallow and take a deep breath before continuing. "They got her Scully, just like they got my sister. She's gone Scully, vanished without a trace." He listened for a while, and took a deep breath. "No Scully, I know what I'm talking about. We had two encounters this afternoon—I should have known this was coming. Scully it was just like before, the paralysis, I couldn't move, and I couldn't do anything to help her, like I couldn't do anything to help my sister. And all the talk I gave her about being careful to lock her door, it didn't do any good."

"You have to come out here Scully, now. I'm staying at her house. She has photographs; she's even turned a group of them into a screensaver. I'm going to have to go through her computer files to see if I can find something helpful. Of course I'm going to start tonight—I can't sleep, can I ever sleep? They've murdered my sleep."

"Let me give you her number. Let's see, it's 425-555-8859. Let me know what time your plane arrives—and Scully, get a flight just as soon as you can. If Skinner gives you any grief, just bat your baby-blues at him. Oh? Well then, don't bat your baby blues. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? It's important Scully. And if that's not enough, I really need your help." He clicked off his phone.

He went into the bedroom and put on the rest of his clothes, barely able to look at the bed they had shared. He went back out into the living room and turned on her computer, her cats trailing after him. "Oh, baby, I hope you don't have a password," holding his breath as the computer clicked on and the Windows 95 screen appeared on her monitor, then clicked off and her desktop appeared-a confusing assortment of folders and icons. He exhaled, "God, times like these make me wish I was a computer nerd."

"Where do I begin?" he asked himself, where would she have put the files? He stared at the desktop, then went into Windows Explorer and began to search her files. He found a folder titled "Sightings" on her desktop and clicked on that.

It was a repeat of the photos in her three-ring notebook. Photograph after photograph of lights and craft hovering over the field, the old pit, the woods. One pic showed a craft hovering low over the field, the light projected so bright that it almost seemed to be daylight. He searched through her desk for a pen and piece of paper, and wrote "sightings on desktop" then returned to Windows Explorer .

He went into Word and looked for folders, files, anything that would be of help, but found nothing. He next went into Excel and searched the sub directories and found a file with the name "Flight Journal." "Here goes nothing," he said and clicked it on.

There was a spreadsheet, with individual sheets labeled by year. He clicked on "1995" and found a spreadsheet charting dates, times, places, number of craft, length of sighting, and a column labeled "Description when possible." He scanned the spreadsheet and realized that there was a sighting at least once a month, sometimes more often. "Damn," he breathed, and pushed "print" to print out the sheet. He clicked "1996" and found the same thing, this he printed too.

He carried the spreadsheets into the kitchen and then made a pot of coffee. The cats followed him, rubbing against his ankles but he resisted the temptation to kick them away. He looked down and saw two empty bowls on the floor, along with another dish that held only a trace of water. A bag of cat food was on the refrigerator so he took this and filled the bowls, then added water to the other dish.

"I bet you know something's wrong," he told them, "Maybe you even saw something that I didn't and wonder why I didn't do anything about it. And why am I talking to you in the first place? That's Scully's job."

He shook his head and poured himself a cup of coffee. He went to the table and pulled out a chair and sat down, then carefully began to examine the spreadsheets. He checked each entry, noticing that she kept meticulous records, and even made references to photographs she had taken. Everything was recorded, but there was no mention of how she had come across the craft, what she had happened to be at each location.

He took a sip of coffee and looked at the spreadsheets again. Somehow there had to be more information, and then he noticed, at the bottom of each sheet, "Refer to journal."

"Great," he said, "What journal? Where is it Sara? Is it in your computer, in a notebook, where is it?" He stood up and began to search, checking her desk, flipping through each page of the photograph notebook. He went back to her computer and opened Microsoft Word and began to check her folders.

There were all sorts of files and directories—correspondence, resumes, letters to prospective employers, letters to old lovers, short stories that had been started, but nothing that suggested her monitoring of the UFO sightings. He came to the last folder, labeled "walks", not expecting anything more than a description, perhaps, of her favorite hikes, but opened it anyway.

He drew in a breath—not believing what he saw. There were individual files labeled "cemetery", "open pit", "railroad", "mineshaft", "field and house." Each file contained maps, drawn freehand, scanned from books that showed the location of each sighting, along with the time seen. She had also shown the path each craft had taken, and there were symbols that perhaps indicated craft types. How much work had she put into this, anyway, he wondered.

But there was that annoying entry at the bottom of each map "see journal." "Sara, where did you put the journal?" he asked out loud, "Where is it?"

He got up and wandered around her small living room. He went and stood before her bookshelves, thinking. "If I wanted to keep a journal safe from prying eyes, where would I put it? Would I put it on my computer, no, that would be too easy for someone to access. They could get to my files and erase everything. I wouldn't entrust it to someone I corresponded with on the Net because I would have no way of really knowing who they were."

"Did you just keep a UFO journal, or did you keep a journal of your own? I didn't find one on your computer, but you keep such meticulous records that it seems logical that you could have kept one. Now if I had a hand written journal, where would I keep it?"

He went back into the bedroom and looked around. The cats were now huddled together on the bed, on the side where she had slept. "Why don't you help me out?" he asked them, but they only stared at him disdainfully. He searched drawers and closets and shoe boxes, but found nothing. "I'd maybe hide it in the bedroom, but you didn't think that was a good idea, did you Sara?"

As he turned and left the room, the black cat jumped down from the bed and ran ahead of him, almost tripping him. "Damn cat," he swore, and went into the kitchen, repeating the search, the results as fruitless as before. He wandered back into the living room and looked up to it staring at him from the top of the bookcase. "So if you think you know where it is, why don't you tell me?" he shouted at it. The violent switching of a tail was the only reply he received. "You're not being very helpful," Mulder growled, but he went over to the bookcase to give the cat a pat on the head.

"Holy mother of God," he breathed. There, before him, was a series of blank-type books that she had obviously used for her journal. "Did you hide them in plain sight, Sara?" he asked and drew them from the shelves. There were ten of them, and he took them all.

"Remind me to buy you some tuna," he said to the cat, and took the books over to the couch and began to look through them. Some were obviously a diary of long standing, and dated before she had moved to the house in 1994. He replaced these on the shelves, not wanting to read her private diary. The eighth book, however, was dated "1994", and not daring to hope too much, he began to skim through it.

It was there, shortly after the beginning of the book, a detailed description of the first sighting, going into detail that she did not put on the spreadsheet, or maps. She had sketched the craft she had sighted, for she had seen it during the day, and she drew the corresponding symbol beside it. He read, fascinated, and soon he realized that she had given up all pretext of keeping a diary and had devoted her journal exclusively to UFO sightings.

Even without what had happened that night, he would be inclined to take her journal seriously. Her writings did not have the overtone of the hysteric, or fanciful imaginings of a fiction writer. She had recorded her own feeling relating to each incident, but with the dispassionate tones of an observer. She seemed to have no feelings about what she saw, _she merely reported it._

He knew Scully would be skeptical, he expected it, even hoped for it. She would insist upon having the photographs carefully examined, would try to find an explanation for his witnessing the abduction. She would tell him that Sara's short stories could be an indication that this could be no more than an elaborate fiction. He needed Scully's skepticism, needed her to bounce his ideas off of, needed her cool head to help him understand this.

He went back to her computer and began printing files. The spreadsheets he'd made copies of, so he printed the maps. He needed to make back up copes of her files-fortunately she had a zip drive-so he looked in her desk drawer but found nothing. There were no disks anywhere, just an unopened pack of zip disks—had she made back-up copies of her files or been waiting to and not gotten around to it? It would have been more efficient to store them on zip disks, especially with the photos, instead of a large number of floppies, but he could see no other disks lying around.

He went into the kitchen and searched until he found a large paper grocery bag. He placed the copies of the spreadsheets and the maps inside the notebook, then placed then placed them along with the journal in the bag. He then added the journals and the disks, folded the bag tightly shut and wrapped it with strapping tape.

In spite of himself, fatigue was overtaking him. He could not bring himself to lie down in the bedroom, so he took a comforter and a pillow from her bed, and lay down upon the sofa, his cell phone tucked into the crook of his arm, and the package on the floor tucked underneath the sofa. One cat joined him, then the other, but the weight upon his legs felt oddly comforting, along with the added warmth. "Okay, it's yours too," he murmured, "But the first one who snores gets kicked off, unless it's me."

He only intended to close his eyes for a minute, just a minute. He was afraid to close his eyes for too long, but the fatigue he felt was overwhelming and the sleep he needed came unbidden. His sleep was blank and empty of dreams, a blessing after the nightmare of a short time before.

At last he opened his eyes and looked up to see Sara and his sister staring at him. "Sara? Samantha?" he asked, "Is it really you? What are you doing here?" But neither answered him, staring at him with eyes that seemed as empty as his dreams. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes, wondering if they would disappear, but they continued to stare at him. His phone rang, and he fumbled around to find it, lost in the cushions of the sofa. He clicked it on and looked up to see that they were gone.

"Yeah Scully, it's me," he answered wearily. "You'll be here at five Seattle time, United flight 510? Yeah, I'm all right, don't worry. Oh, and Scully—bring your rain boots, this is Seattle. Yeah, I'll be there, don't worry. And thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'll fill you in when you get here." He listened for a moment, "Scully, have I ever sent you on a wild goose chase—no don't answer that, but bring your gun. I think you may need it". He clicked his phone off and stared at the now-empty spot where they had stood.


End file.
